Day 54 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about how your character cleans.
Shannon: Becca put on her headphones and got to work picking up and organizing every piece of mail. Then she threw all of the clothes into the wash basket, and carried all the dirty dishes to the kitchen. The cat watched from his thrown on the backrest of couch as she picked up the toys he’s scattered across the living room. She imagined him whispering peasant as he curled his tail back and forth, so she squinted her eyes and shook her head at him.
Next it was on to her favorite part: vacuuming. She loved how loudly the apparatus roared, drowning out the rest of the world. Her headphones could trick her into believing she was surrounded by a sound barrier, but a vacuum cleaner was the real deal. She found peace in the activity, but her cat only saw his arch nemesis. He immediately pounced in front of its path and hissed. “Not this again,” she scolded.
Erin: Mary cleaning was a show. The house was her stage and the supplies where her fellow performers. In the bathroom, she painted the mirror with glass cleaner. The broom was her enthusiastic tap partner. She waved the duster around like a flag. She strutted behind the vacuum like the hallway was her runway. When she made the bed, she floated the blankets like she was flying a kite. I loved watching Mary as she pranced around leaving a sparkling house in her wake, almost as radiant as herself.
Characters cleaning, readers learning about them.
Pelky Sisters 
Created to Write:
The moment all the horses are out in the corral, Heather gets to work. She takes the wheelbarrow and a pitchfork to the first stall. Dolly eats a lot for such a small horse. The pitchfork is buried into the manure and straw. Heather lifts the load and deposits it in the wheelbarrow. She uses the divot to branch off with more scoops. When the floor is cleaned of the layer of horse apples, she moves on to the next stall. Atlas’ stall was next, and when Heather’s finished, the wheelbarrow is full. She wheels it out of the stable and down the path. Far from any of the buildings is the ever growing pile of horse and cattle manure.
The wheelbarrow is dumped and she goes back to the stable. Storm’s stall isn’t too bad, but it still stinks. Heather finishes with Blaze and Rhett’s, then takes another trip to the pile.
The last two stalls, Domino’s and Trapper’s, are cleaned and dumped, so Heather puts the dirty pitchfork away. She takes the cleaner one and hauls in a bale of fresh hay. She brushes the hair from her forehead, feeling something sticky stay.
Sticking the pitchfork inside, she loosens the hay bale until the floor of Trapper’s stall is covered in a padded layer of yellow. She repeats with six more bales and takes a moment to sit on the fence outside the corral. Her arms are sore, but this is the life she loves. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, trade it for anything.
After her break, watching the sun finish rising, she goes back and fills the water and feed troughs in each stall. Leading each horse to their stall, she puts her tools away and walks to the house. Her boots have mud and manure caked on them, so she takes a moment to clean them at the spigot by the porch. She walks up the stairs, taking her boots off just outside the door.
She opens the door and steps in. “What’s for breakfast?”
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